


Interlude

by Paratale



Series: Polaris [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Mention of Sith Warrior/Theron Shan, Pre-KOTFE, The Polaris Legacy, five year time skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5152586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paratale/pseuds/Paratale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Short Fiction Weekly Challenge: Day of the Dead. Flith Mayel, the former Emperor's Wrath, is declared killed in action. She leaves something behind for Quinn. (She's only sleeping, but her crew doesn't know that.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic for this fandom! I hope you like it. Suggestion: listen to "Thought of You" by Ryan Woodward for maximum pain.

“If you’ve truly found nothing new, there’s no reason I shouldn’t be allowed to see your files,” Quinn argued, taking a deep breath. Under normal circumstances he took pride in his ability navigate Imperial bureaucracy, but now anything and everything seemed to result in a struggle to remain composed.

The clerk glared at him. “Like I’ve told you every day for the past week, you don’t have the clearance to view any Sith Intelligence files, regardless of how inconclusive they are.”

“I’m the closest thing she has to next of kin!”

“What’s going on here?”

Quinn and the clerk turned around. A tall young woman in Sith garb was approaching. Jaesa Willsaam. Or, as she was better known these days, Lord Jaesa.

“My Lord,” said the clerk carefully. “Captain Quinn was requesting access to highly classified Sith intelligence files. For the fifth time in three days. I have denied the request.”

“I see,” said Jaesa, looking from Quinn to the clerk. Quinn could practically see the gears turning behind her eyes. “Were those files related to the Lord Wrath, by any chance?”

“Yes. As I told the Captain, all Sith intelligence files are highly—“

“I demand to see them,” Jaesa interjected. The clerk blinked.

“My lord—“

“I’m her apprentice,” said Jaesa, ghosting a hand over the hilt of her doublesaber. “She taught me everything I know.”

The clerk gulped. “Everything?”

Jaesa nodded, icily. “Everything.”

“Well,” said the clerk after a brief pause. “Come with me, then.” Jaesa shot Quinn a quick look, mouthing “wait here” before following the clerk.

***

Jaesa returned half an hour later, the clerk’s many apologies close on her heels. “Anything?” Quinn demanded as she motioned for him to follow her outside.

“They haven’t found a body,” said Jaesa slowly, staring at the ground, “but…”

“Then that’s good news,” said Quinn, relieved. “She must have made it off the ship. She could be in one of the escape pods—“

“Quinn.” Jaesa stopped walking and turned to look at him. “They haven’t found a body, but they’re declaring her killed in action. It’s been almost two months, the Empire doesn’t want to expend any more resources on the search, the Dark Council is worried about a possible invasion and—“

Quinn blinked. Impossible. “They have to keep looking—she could be stranded alone on an uncharted planet!”

“I know,” Jaesa said softly. “I always believed I would sense her passing, but I felt nothing when Darth Marr’s ship… Still, it doesn’t matter if she’s alive or not. They’re not going to keep searching.”

Flith had fought and bled for the Dark Council and they would just… leave her like this? The thought of Flith alone on an alien planet, possibly dying a slow death from starvation or exposure, made him physically ill. It was a fate Flith herself had selected for Darth Baras precisely because she found it so horrifying. “Speak to Darth Occulus!” Quinn demanded. “There has to be someone who will keep up the search!”

"Darth Occulus voted to continue the search," said Jaesa, "but now that there's been an official decision, I doubt she'll try to fight it. She's more interested in trying to take over Darth Marr's position."

Quinn gritted his teeth. Sith politics. "You don’t believe she’s dead, do you?” He asked Jaesa, who looked away.

“No,” she said. “I would have felt it. Like I felt it when her hearts stopped on Quesh. If she was really gone…” She shook her head. “But we were a long way from the... the explosion, and maybe I just…”

“She’s still alive,” Quinn whispered. “Somewhere. We can’t give up on her.”

“I don’t want to give you false hope,” Jaesa admitted. “The Force is more fallible than you think.” She looked around. People were starting to give them funny looks, standing awkwardly as they were outside of the Sith sanctum. “Let’s go back to Flith’s apartments. There was… one other thing I uncovered.”

***

It wasn’t that Quinn believed Flith to be unkillable. Far from it. He had restarted her hearts on Quesh himself; kept her breathing until Jaesa had arrived and blasted open the entrance to the cavern. He had attacked her with his own droids, once. They had managed to shear off one of Flith’s horns while she was still unsteady from the betrayal, before she regained her senses and crushed their metal bodies—and then Quinn’s throat—like they were made of paper. The horn had just started to grow back when she went missing. Even with that knowledge, he could not convince himself that she was dead; only that she was in danger, and that spurred rather than placated his need to keep looking for her.

The crew had flown directly to Dromund Kaas after the incident, arriving on planet just in time to see footage of Darth Marr’s ship breaking in two being broadcasted on every terminal in the spaceport. Vette was inconsolable, and Quinn hadn’t fared much better. They stayed at Flith’s apartments while they awaited news.

The apartments had been, at one time, a modest 3 room structure down the block from the citadel. As Flith’s rank had increased, so had her living space, but her disinterest in material things had stayed the same, and many of the rooms were still empty.

Quinn glanced at the open door of Flith’s office as he and Jaesa entered the vestibule. After defeating Baras, Flith had been granted his old chambers, in addition to an office at the Korriban Academy, but she held most of her meetings in this room. She had heard requests from military officials, civil organizations, even acolytes looking to be placed with a mentor. She rarely turned anyone away. It puzzled the Dark Council, but the military and civilians adored her for her attentions.

Next to her office was the greenhouse. After defeating Nomen Karr, Flith, Vette, Quinn and Jaesa had spent six months in Kaas City, living out of the ever-expanding apartment while Flith trained Jaesa. The jungle climate of Dromund Kaas had made gardening a relatively popular past time for its residents, and Flith spent a not insignificant fraction of her considerable stipend on potted plants for the apartment. When Baras called them away from Dromund Kaas again, she paid Jaesa’s parents to take care of the plants in her absence. The collection slowly grew as Flith brought back specimens from her travels.

After Ziost, the hobby had become something of an obsession. Flith had several flowers and a tree imported from the dead planet. They were completely lifeless—so empty that not even microbial decay could renew the soil—but Flith was determined to make them grow again. She had little talent for the sciences, but spent hours poring over botanical texts and meditating in front of the pots. Quinn could see the grisly flowers as he approached the greenhouse on the way to the eastern staircase, dead and frozen as ever. If Quinn hadn’t known better, he would have assumed she was mourning the planet she had grown up on. But he remembered from when Flith used to confide in him that her memories of the frozen Imperial core world only held pain.

Vette was sitting on the edge of one of the Rishi pots, staring at the floor. Jaesa glanced at Quinn and opened the greenhouse door.

“Vette?”

“Hi, Jaesa,” Vette sniffed. “No news?”

“They’ve stopped looking for her,” Quinn couldn’t help himself from saying bitterly. “She’s been declared dead.” He regretted his blunt delivery when Vette started crying into her hands again.

“Those Sith assholes!” She squeaked when Jaesa put a hand on her shoulder. She pounded a blue fist futilely against the pot she was sitting on. “This is all my fault! I should have told her where to stuff it when she ordered us to leave…”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Jaesa murmured. Quinn said nothing. He didn’t blame Vette for what had happened. Nor did he blame Jaesa, or Broonmark, or even Pierce. He was at fault, for letting her go alone, for following her order to stay onboard without question, for not insisting that he accompany her.

“We get into this kind of crazy stuff all the time,” Vette said quietly. “And we always come back out alive. Flith leads us back out. But there was always the chance we wouldn’t make it, you know? So I guess Ziost was… the last time.” Jaesa and Quinn listened silently as Vette sniffed and wiped away her remaining tears. “I’ve been so dumb. There’s always a last time. When they go away again and don’t come back.” She hopped down off the edge of the pot. “I gotta go. I told my sister I would call.” Vette scurried from the room before Jaesa or Quinn could say anything.

They left the greenhouse. Jaesa led Quinn up the stairs, through the library and to the door to Flith’s room. “As Flith’s apprentice, I’ve inherited everything she owns,” she explained, “including her will. I do, of course, plan on honoring it.” She pulled an electronic key card from a pocket of her robes and handed it to him. Quinn grasped the device with unsteady hands, running a finger along the sharp edge.

“It opens the safe in her quarters. Everything inside is yours now. The will also stipulated that you will serve me unless you decide otherwise. Under no circumstances am I to let the military forcibly assign you to someone else.” Jaesa gave him a small smile. “You don’t have to stay on if you don’t want to, but I wasn’t planning on turning you away.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Quinn whispered, unable to find his voice. Jaesa shook her head.

“Please, Quinn. I’m still Jaesa.” Before he could protest, she patted him gently on the shoulder and turned to go. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

Quinn placed his hand, still trembling, on the scanner to unlock the door. Even in her own apartnment, Flith made sure her quarters were secure, on the off chance an intruder would have been able to make it past the multitude of security droids stationed outside.

There were a couple of odd artifacts sitting in the far corner, but little else to indicate the owner of the room was a Sith Lord. The blanket on the plain metal bed was still rumpled from the last time Flith had stayed here. Sparse, utilitarian junker lamps were installed over the bed. In front of the bed, a tiny personal astromech kept a sad watch. A pot of pink flowers soaked in beam of sunlight near the window. A small desk covered in neat stacks of paperwork sat across from the bed. Someone would have to sort through their stacks eventually. The carpet was thin, worn, and beige.

The safe was located next to the desk, in a corner by the door. Quinn moved towards it as if in slow motion, stepping over a little sandcrawler. He ran shaking fingers over the side of the safe, searching for the lock, until he could finally slot the key into the reader. Immediately, a grinding noise sounded from the top of the safe; a previously invisible metal panel sliding back to reveal a holoprojector. Quinn stared at the menu taking shape in front of him.

It was a series of security logs from the Fury. There was only one camera, installed above the entryway, to catch any potential thieves or assassins that tried to board while the crew was grounded. Quinn had never actually seen any of the recordings—only the small hallway leading into the ship was visible, and 2V had been given the unenviable task of monitoring the feed.

Quinn selected the first log. There was a click and Flith’s face appeared, her tattoos contorted in an expression of intense concentration. Once or twice a gloved hand passed in front of the feed.

“Scoot over, my Lord,” Quinn heard Vette say, her voice slightly distorted by the recording. Flith disappeared and Vette leaned in. “You don’t know what the heck you’re doing.” There were a few clicks and flashes while Vette smirked at the camera. “There we go! I hate enabling your paranoia, but I started to feel bad just watching you struggle.”

“Thank you, Vette,” Flith said off-screen. Quinn’s stomach clenched at the sound of her low, quiet voice. Vette’s expression went from cheeky to soft.

“You’re welcome, Pink.”

The rest of the recording showed only an empty hallway. Quinn returned to the menu and selected a few more at random. They, too, were empty. Growing frustrated, Quinn searched for some date and time he recognized that might give him a clue as to why Flith had kept these old logs.

His breath hitched when he found it. He remembered that date because he had seen it displayed in red letters on the clock in Flith’s quarters the same night. Opening the log, he searched through at high speed until he saw an image of himself and Flith entering the hall from inside the ship. He remembered asking to speak to her alone, and walking out to the vestibule together, away from the rest of the crew.

“My Lord,” Quinn heard himself say, “I must officially request to be reassigned.” He couldn’t make out the expression on Flith’s face from this angle, but he remembered it as being openly shocked before switching to concern.

“Why in the galaxy would I want that?”

“For the sake of you and the crew. I am compromised.” In the present, Quinn’s fist clenched. He hadn’t insisted on going with Flith because he had believed he had no right. He had, once again, mistakenly believed his absence would be for the best. “Thoughts of you have begun to… distract me. My feelings affect my ability to concentrate. I cannot in good conscience continue to serve.”

“If you insist on reassignment, it will be a shame,” said Flith softly. “But I’ll grant it.”

At the time, Quinn had been too wrapped up in his own angst to detect the deep sadness and confusion behind her words. Now, three years later, Flith had disappeared, and with her his last hope for reigniting the warmth they had once shared. In the wake of it all, Quinn found himself clinging to every scrap of Flith’s heart he could find; trying to pull as much of her out of the grainy holoimage as possible, from the slight slump in her small frame to the resignation in her voice.

“I…” Holo-Quinn stopped. “No. I’m an idiot. Permission to kiss you, my Lord.”

“You never need to ask.” Even at the awkward camera angle, Quinn could make out a wide smile on Flith’s face before she placed her hands on his collar and kissed him.

“Sorry,” Holo-Flith said as they broke apart. “I haven’t kissed anyone before.” Later, once they had made their way to her quarters, she would confess that between her isolated upbringing on Ziost and the risky nature of Sith relationships, there had simply never been a good opportunity.

“I could instruct you,” Quinn’s past self murmured, “if you would permit it.”

“I told you; you never need to ask,” came Flith’s wry reply. Quinn watched as they exited the vestibule. The rest of that night was for his memory alone.

Swallowing hard, Quinn returned to the main menu. He could think of no other footage that would be any interest. He scrolled all the way to the bottom of the list, expecting the final log to be relatively recent.

But it was not. The final recording was dated almost two years ago. Curious, Quinn opened it up.

Flith’s face filled the holo. It was crumpled in concentration again, but there was a hard edge to her gaze that hadn’t been there in the first log. She huffed irritably as she wrestled with the device anchoring the camera to the wall, then gave a vicious snarl and yanked, and the holo went dark.

Quinn sunk to the floor, staring in shocked silence at the electronic safe. He recognized that date now. It was shortly after the incident on the transponder station, probably during or just after Flith’s time on Corellia. No—definitely during. This must have been how the assassin had been able to board their ship undetected. Because the security camera was down.

The footage he had just nervously picked through, wracked with grief and desperate for one last message from his former fiancée, was the same footage Flith must have watched after Quinn’s cataclysmic betrayal. Knowing Flith, she must have spent hours curled over her holocomputer in her newly private quarters, searching single-mindedly for some kind of sign; proof that Quinn had been planning his betrayal all along, or that he hadn’t. That he had never loved her, or that he always had.

On instinct, Quinn looked under the holoviewer and found that the inside of the safe had also opened. As he had suspected, the small compartment contained a datapad with files documenting all of his electronic correspondences with Flith. Even the recent ones. (There was also a large stack of credit vouchers, but he hardly gave those a second thought.)

Flith had left him with both an answer and a question. That she had kept the security footage and email all this time, coupled with her decision to return them to Quinn upon her passing, had to mean she still felt something for him—even after her many dalliances with that Republic agent. If she no longer cared, she would have coldly excised Quinn from her will and left him nothing at all. “I still care for you” was her answer. The question was, “do you still care for me? Did you ever?”

To an uncaring traitor, this gift would have been one final condemnation, a slammed door that still trembled mournfully on its hinges. To Quinn, it was one final chance to see Flith’s face, hear her voice, relive for a short time the days when they had been truly happy together.

It tore him apart that she still didn’t know the answer to her question. Overcome with shame and regret, but burning with fresh determination to right the many wrongs between them, he opened a fresh mail document. She might never receive it, but if he didn’t say it somewhere, somehow, the words would eat him from the inside out.

**Subject: I remain your loyal servant**

 


End file.
